No one loves cream or creaminess more than the French. They love it so much that they call all sorts of things other than cream “crème“: cream soups, pudding, sauces, custard filling, pastry cream, coffee with hot milk, puréed chestnuts, almond cream, cream horns, and even certain liqueurs. Just about anything creamy is likely to be called cream in French.

Cream has existed ever since milk existed. Despite our association with French cuisine, in general, cream is more a specialty of the north of France where it’s cooler, of the land of butter, than of the south, the land of olive oil and duck fat.

Normandy might well be called the cream capital of the world, or at least of France. The Vikings brought what we now call Normande cows to Normandy a thousand years ago. They, along with Jersey cows, are known for the quality of their fatty, high-protein milk, which makes excellent cream, butter and cheese. Half of all French milk and cream now comes from Normandy.

If you don’t happen to have a friend or family member who must avoid gluten, the term may sound like some weird fad – indeed it seems to be the hot new thing in pop culture. But while the term may be gaining popularity in today’s society, it is anything but a trendy diet.

When I first met my husband, we went to a local burger place for dinner as our first date. He ordered his burger without any bread, and I remember being intrigued by that choice – I hardly knew the guy at that point (it was our first date after all), but he didn’t seem the type to be into following a low-carb diet. So in my rather up-front and pointed way, I asked him why he did that, and he then went on to explain to me how he was unable to tolerate gluten. After we got married a few years ago, I took it upon myself as a personal challenge to make sure he could find tasty food to eat that fit within his dietary restrictions – and what a great and adventurous journey it has been!

5 days agoby jonell_gallowayWe all have to let off steam from time to time. I do it through words, sometimes harsh, sometimes sweet; Venice does it through windows and steam-pipes. Hand-shaped bricks were laid onto this marshland over a thousand years ago and still stand, the alder wood foundation stakes digging deep to reach the bottom sands of this shallow lagoon. This wall tells a tall story, filled in over the centuries with newer bricks and stones, later covered with plaster, itself now crumbling with age, like family stories that change tones with the times and are embellished with black or white lace